


Vicious Appetite

by violet_electric



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Amorality, BDSM, Deviates From Canon, Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Fucked Up, Hate Sex, Obsessive Behavior, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, S&M, Smut, Squick, WIP, bullet wounds, plot divergence, slowish burner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-03 10:18:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11530173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_electric/pseuds/violet_electric
Summary: "I wasn’t sick, like most of them in my business. I was a straightforward killer. Sure, maybe that was twisted enough in itself, but in comparison… I was a saint. Death was swift and straight, usually deserved, and always a mercy in this hell hole. I could care less whether they were young, old, male, female or whatever in-between. I never had the desire to screw or be screwed, fuck and pillage, turned on by the mere thought of a pussy...But she…I felt ravenous looking at her."Kellogg collides with a woman who sets off a bomb inside him. And she tries to play a game with the most dangerous prey she has ever encountered, not knowing just quite how twisted his thoughts about her are.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from wholesome-ish, and to experiment writing dirty and twisted. So... enjoy? Also credit to Depeche Mode for giving me every single idea for this, namely the title which is from 'Barrel of a Gun'. I'll do a playlist at some point if that's not too 13yr old on wattpad.

Sticky sweat stuck to my collar. I wiped it away with the rag binding my wound. A brief slip—we all had them, at times.

But this one had been for a purpose. It had been to lure her here and boy had it worked like a charm. Using the dog was ingenious; though on her own she wasn’t dumb, and on the long path of rampage she probably would have found me sooner rather than later. I managed a smirk. Everything was going to plan, just the way the old man wanted. For a bunch of sociopaths, so far removed from humanity that they preferred to replace them all with robots, they really had a good grasp of basic human nature. He knew she loved him enough to travel the ends of the earth for him. Enough to trap her in this abandoned hole with a man like me, dooming her out of plain curiosity. It was pretty sick, if you thought about it, even for him.

I wasn’t sick, like most of them in my business. I was a straightforward killer. Sure, maybe that was twisted enough in itself, but in comparison… I was a saint. Death was swift and straight, usually deserved, and always a mercy in this hell hole. I could care less whether they were young, old, male, female or whatever in-between. I never had the desire to screw or be screwed, fuck and pillage, turned on by the mere thought of a pussy. Way back when, I went for the most plain-faced girl I knew. My Sarah, with her mousy-brown hair. She was nice and innocent. And she was dead. I loved her, and all that, but whatever misguided fool I was back then died a long time ago. What had my game been there? Planning to fix all my father’s mistakes by managing not to beat my wife and screw up my child? The best laid plans… I guess at least they don’t have to exist like me; go on with a half-life, with whatever last trace of humanity I had left gone, each day the artificial numbness becoming more like myself than I ever was.

Or so I thought. Maybe robots want to fuck too—maybe it’s something so primal it’s the last possible need to go. I didn’t have it in abundance; usually a kill gave enough of a rush, or it made me feel numb enough to forget all other urges. But she… I felt ravenous looking at her. I worried for a second this hellhole had made me into a cannibal; it wasn’t natural. But then I realised my Johnson was straining against my chaps and it sure as hell wasn’t the googly-eyed plastic skeletons around me provoking it. 

She had his eyes. I hated that. But it fascinated me. Every time I’d wanted to fuck him over, shoot his smug face until it exploded, I looked into those big brown doe-eyes and I swore to him that one day I’d make him into the fountain of blood I pictured in my mind. And then he’d smile, and put another cap or two in my hand and pat me on the shoulder like I was his son or something… ignoring how fucked up that’d be. 

Ah, the old man. All knowing, all seeing, and still unable to predict this. His hired gun, sent for a 12 o’clock showdown to take down his own mother. And instead I’m standing in front of the computer monitor, gun shaking and the only thing cocked… well, you get the idea. 

She was advancing through the building at surprising speed. She wasted no time and left no survivors. I watched as synth after synth fell for her mines, or got caught face to face with a grenade, or chased her into a dead end only to be felled with one fiery blow to the back of their artificial skulls. Such a small woman needed to have special skills to have survived this long and I had anticipated that. But seeing her in action was another thing. 

She stopped directly under a camera, eyes wide, bulging out of her thin grey face as she raised her gun in anticipation. Her gaze remained fixed ahead and I could almost see her ears prick up to catch the faintest noise around her. She was ready; her eyes barely flickered as she blasted two synths across the hall when they foolishly wandered into her path. She moved forward quickly, checking and double checking the rooms around her with such speed I was surprised she wasn’t making herself dizzy. Yet she was cool as ever, irritatingly calm, and I felt my body twitch as desire rushed through me; filled with the need to slap her pale cheeks until they bled and her steady voice broke and screamed. 

“Sir, the target is now within 50m of the access point to this side of the building,” one of the synths said.

I waved it away.

“I can see that. Open comms, I am going to talk to the target.”

I was going to see that skin crawl. I was going to make her lose it. I was going to remind her that being Nancy Drew with the robot and blowing up a few plastic toys meant nothing, in the end. She was going to realise she was exactly where she had been meant to be all along and the only difference between getting killed as soon as she walked through Fort Hagen's doors and getting killed when she stood in front of me was how many would share her tomb. Of course she would get the added bonus of my handsome mug being the last thing she saw before her brains were turned to pulp. 

I laughed at that. God, what a freak I was. I was starting to get turned on at the thought of her eyes, fixed so intensely to my face, seeing every little scrape and scar before her eyes went white and cold. I rubbed the trigger of my pistol slowly, closing my eyes and playing the sound of the gunshot that would ring out over and over in my head.

The low crackle of the intercom reminded me of what I had to do first. Stepping over to the monitor, I leant over the mic, not taking my eyes from the image on the screen. She looked a little less anxious, having just shot the last synth in the corridor, and facing an empty stairwell ahead of her.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the return of the prodigal… mother, I suppose.”

A thrill of glee shook through my entire body as I saw her cool expression slip, shoulders tensing as she whirled round, pointing her gun so wildly that if I had been standing directly in front of her she would still have missed me. 

“Never expected you to come knocking on my door,” I mused more than anything else. “Gave you 50/50 odds of making it to Diamond City. After that?”

I gave a laugh. I still remembered that day, watching her crawl out of the vault, the sun blinding her half-frozen, pre-nuclear eyes and making her squint and cower like a dog in thunder. So timid, still shaking-- from the cold or fear I could only guess—and so beautiful. No muck in her hair, no muscle on her tiny little arms and no scars on her face. Not even pain—the true pain, the pain that comes in the days and months and years after grief is fully realised—marred her lovely expression. I felt sorry for the little bird, her nest destroyed, and nothing left for her to rebuild it with except a crummy old pistol and whatever part of her brain still worked after 200 years on ice.

“I figured the Commonwealth would chew you up like jerky…”

I couldn’t tell whether I was glad it did or didn’t. Her face scrunched up at that; part disgusted, part enraged. I was getting to her and I could tell she wasn’t used to feeling so powerless. 

“If the Commonwealth couldn’t do it, you sure as hell won’t,” she shouted, looking around her again in vain to try and source where my voice was coming from. She was so naïve. But I kind of admired that arrogant bit of pluckiness. 

“Look,” I continued. “You’re pissed off. I get it, I do. But whatever you hope to accomplish here? It’s not going to go your way.”

God knows how much I got it. I felt the faintest glimmer of empathy—and already that was too much. At least she would have the consolation of knowing he wasn’t dead. Though perhaps death would be better than finding out what had really become of him.

She was undeterred, more likely inspired, by my attempts at baiting her; she proceeded to march down the stairs, gripping her gun tight, and her eyes wider and fiercer than ever. I almost smiled at the sight.

“You’ve got guts and determination, and that’s admirable. But you are in over your head in ways you can’t possibly comprehend.”

I was half-heartedly trying to pacify her. She could find him another way. After all, this showdown put my neck on the line, and I knew when she wanted to be she was a good shot. But I could not stop the thought of running my hands through her blood covered hair, touching that icy white skin, lifting her limp body in my arms. I needed her to come to me and I would have her one way or the other. 

A wave of something like nausea filled me. What was I thinking? I was half-drooling over the thought of blood, like a Trapper on psycho, though I had no excuse of brain fog to redeem myself. I shuddered as I wiped my mouth, taking a deep breath and trying to regain my composure. I was not like this. I was a machine. I killed for a purpose, nothing more. I killed for caps so I could drink and smoke and sleep somewhere comfortable without getting knifed. I did not torture, rape or kill to get my kicks.

“It’s not too late…” I began, my voice low and more serious than before. “Stop. Turn around and leave. You have that option; not a lot of people can say that. Most days people don’t even get to see what they’re facing before they’re shot in the back. This is the best deal you’ll get all year, if you last that long.”

Stupid woman was still running. I wondered for a moment if the intercom had broken. She blasted open a few synths, broken circuits sending electric shock waves across their bodies, and only when a blast from a turret caught her shoulder did her hard scowl change. 

She fell back, clutching her arm, face scrunched up in pain. I saw her eyes sparkle as she looked around, waving her gun again, and I could see a hint of fear flash through her. She was too pale, too thin, too small for this fight. And I think she was starting to realise it.

“OK, you made it. I’m just up ahead. My synths are standing down. Let’s talk.”

I turned off the mic and stepped away from the screen. To my surprise, my heart was starting to beat rapidly, and I brushed away another lick of sweat from my brow. I checked my gun. I checked it day and night, keeping it shiny and slick and ready, yet still I fumbled with it now as if I had never examined it before in my life. 

I cursed, slamming it down on the desk and kicking a stray piece of junk across the floor. Maybe I should blow her brains out as soon as she walked through the door and get this torture over with. Or I could just torture her instead. That idea made me smile.

And there she was, striding up the stairs, gun pointing directly at my chest. I glanced over her, marvelling at seeing her in the flesh. Her black leather pants were covered in dust and blood, and her tattered shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing the scratched and scarred skin beneath it. The standard badass look. I had thought it was a bit of a façade; a little girl’s attempt at making herself look bigger and scarier than she ever could be. But looking at her face, as pale and thin as it was, there was something the cameras had failed to capture. She had a fire in her—I knew she must have done to keep fighting for so long, but it still surprised me how ferocious the glint in her eyes was. It was such a shame. I felt sorry that this would be the end and she had risked everything for such slim reward.

“You came a long way. Let’s hear it.”

“Where is my son, Shaun, hmm? Where is he?”

“Ah Shaun. Good kid. A bit older than maybe you expected… but he’s fine. He’s not here, though.”

She gave me a furious and bitter glare. Again I was distracted by the intensity of it. That moment’s distraction was all it took. Before I had time to pick up my gun she had shot both the synths in the head, and I flinched back as my knuckles were grazed by a stray laser. I thought briefly that she had missed her goal; but then I heard the clunk of metal on the floor beside me, and realised she had simply sliced my stealth boy in two. Excellent.

My pistol was in my hand within a second, but just as I aimed at her she dived behind one of the cubicles. No problem. I simply would follow her. I never really got that fear, anymore. That fear of death, of pain, or whatever it was that made a soldier tremble as he went over the edge of the trench hundreds of years ago. I knew that bullets would only save me, if I was lucky enough for them to bed deep enough in my flesh. 

I dove round the corner, ready on the trigger, only to find an empty space in front of me. The faintest flicker of confusion ran through me which caused me more shock than anything else. She had rankled me. 

Then an almighty crack to the back of my head sent me crashing to my knees. I barely held myself up, head swaying, and then another blow came to my back forcing me to the floor.

A sharp bang rang out across the room, ringing in my ears, and then another and my flesh tore open. She didn't have her laser pistol anymore. I gave a grunt as my arm flopped down beside me, the tendon in my triceps either torn or pressing too painfully against the shrapnel now embedded in me.

I hissed as a hard nailed boot rested on the back of my head and smashed me down with real venom, grinding my nose into the stone. It was about the only part of my face not completely fucked up. I scrambled with my free hand, reaching around myself completely blind, my old shoulder not working as well as it once had. A flash of flesh and I seized on tight, the tips of my fingers stretching painfully across the bone, but I held on.

Another gunshot and my palm flew back, crumpling, and a scream slipped from my lips. Pain was something I had grown used to but I had never been shot right in the middle of my hand. The boot moved away from me and I felt a heavier weight settle on my back. It would be easy to throw her off if I could just have fucking moved. I lay helpless, pinned to the ground by my own limbs, unable to stop the blows that kept coming. Instead I tried to focus on the sensations around my pain. The feel of hot thighs, pressing around my back, clenching tight every time she hit me. Maybe I was starting to get hallucinations or delusions or something— slipping into that sweet little twilight zone between life and death, consciousness and dreams-- but a sharp wave of pleasure surged through me, and I found my lips curling against the cold stone beneath me.

Before I had time to discover what I felt, the weight was lifted from me. I didn’t have much time to lament the loss. Pain shot through me as sharp little fingers gripped my shoulder and tugged me round onto my back, and as soon as they released me I got a slap across the face. She was being extremely thorough with her vindictiveness. I knew she had to be sort of crazy to go this far; I knew this world, coming from the glory days of the old perfect pre-war suburbia, would be too nightmarish to comprehend and remain sane. Yet I didn’t count on this kind of crazy—this dangerous sadism. 

Though my vision was blurred and my eyelids stinging, lashes heavy with dust and dirt, I looked up. She was peering down at me, less cautious and more curious than before. There was something else there too; however, I didn’t have time to analyse it. Her lips twitched and in spite of herself a little smirk began to form.

“I must say, for the toughest man in the Commonwealth, you sure are easy to break.”

Her voice had taken on a smug and sweet tone I hadn’t expected. I would have laughed if I wasn’t having so much trouble breathing. 

“Oh how naïve,” I muttered, rasping as the dust caught in my throat. “I’m like the elastic on your best pair of pre-war panties; you can snap and stretch me back, wear me bare, but it takes a stronger pair of scissors than you got to break through me… bitch.”

My skin cracked, the echo of her slap ringing out loud enough to overcome the dull drone in my ears. 

“I’m much less of a bitch than you are.”

She slowly crouched down, ass brushing against my chest as she straddled me, and her face hovered directly over mine. Beads of sweat shone along her upper lip and brow, mouth ajar as she panted, cheeks flushed with exhilaration and exhaustion. I bit my lip. The pain was so numb compared to the flare of pleasure at seeing her like that. Then I felt cold metal press against my chin. 

Gulping against the gun, I thought I might as well have one last wisecrack.

“Well, are you gonna kill me or kiss me?”

“We’re going to find Shaun, you and I,” she said, her voice cool and calm. “You know where he is, and you are getting me to him. You will suffer until I find him. Then you will die.”

I managed a smirk. I’ll admit that I couldn’t stop myself from thinking that sounded like a wonderful plan. But before I had much chance to voice my objections, the metal was lifted from my chin. In a flash, she had turned the gun around, holding the tip, and in another flash she raised it above my head. Then everything turned black.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunrise, pink and gold, illuminated the barren wastes beneath us. A new dawn. For the first time in a long time it really felt like it. I breathed in, trying to remember what fresh air tasted like. Yet with each passing day the memory of what had been faded, and the harshness of this world became more and more familiar. I looked across the desolate city ahead, where skyscrapers had once been shimmering and bright, and cars had honked and revved in the morning rush. Now in the crumbled concrete it seemed to have been little more than a mirage. Surely all civilisation had been, in a way. One day it would have come down to this. The bombs just accelerated the process.

I heard a faint groan. I was reminded of my captive. My callouses rubbed painfully against the cold metal chain as he began to pull away. Yet my will was more iron than anything that could bind him, and I walked forward, forcing him with me whether he struggled or not. I wondered if he was lost; if his instincts could survive being so bloodied and bruised, while being dragged across unknown hills of dirt. It was pitiable, in a way, seeing someone so tough broken down. But it felt good all the same. His voice swelled in my head again, and I was back in the corridor with a pounding heart as his whispering echo brushed against me. He had caught me off guard; my cheeks seared as I felt the lunge in my stomach again. I tugged on the chain hard, not satisfied until I heard him give a faint, guttural choke. A rush of blood and adrenaline pumped through me. I swallowed hard, and looked round at him.

He was slumped a foot away, a mass of leather and scars, the skin on his face grazed by the rocky floor beneath him. I walked over to him slowly, making each step deliberate.

“Get up. Or crawl.”

I shivered as he turned his head slightly, peering up at me. He was so pathetic. I tugged the chain again.

“You don’t have anything to gain from this,” he rasped.

“I’ll have my son, when I finally break you.”

Kellogg tried to laugh, giving a horrid broken rattle instead.

“I couldn’t give him to you even if I wanted to. Your son is in a place we can’t reach.”

I placed my gun to his head, coiling the chain round my arm so fast and tight that he nearly retched. Blood pumped through my ears so loud I could hear nothing else. 

“You mean he’s dead?”

But he would have told me that sooner if that was true. He had no reason not to. I managed to slow my rapid breaths and think rationally.

“That’s a lie. You were seen with him not more than a month ago.”

I let go of the chain quickly, letting him have a brief breath of air to muster up a response. He rasped uncomfortably for a few minutes, bent over slightly. Then he finally managed to mutter something.

“He’s in the Institute. And still alive… as far as I know. But you sweet baby boy is a little bit different from how you’d remember him. He’s a little bit older than you’d expected.”

I let myself enjoy a brief moment of relief. I didn’t even care what he meant; as long as Shaun was alive I could keep going. Back to the plan.

“So he’s alive. That’s all I need to know. I’m walking you till we find him one way or another.”

I gave him a sharp kick in the back then kept on going. He staggered along slowly for a few minutes then his pace began to slump. Lazy fucker. I grit my teeth, glancing round at him now prostrate on the ground, and tugged the chain again.

This time he did more than groan. His hands flew to his throat, body turning round, and he stood up with a start. I skidded on the trail, digging my heels in quickly, throwing my weight back before he could topple me. I spat angrily at him, throwing my head back to clear fallen strands of hair from my vision. Only my hands gave me away, trembling uncontrollably, the one tick I had never been able to erase.

He began to step towards me, and I whipped out my pistol without a second thought. The click of the hammer froze him. He looked up at the barrel warily.

“Relax. I just wanted to stretch my legs, is all.”

His voice was hoarser than usual. He was probably thirsty, his throat cracking with every breath. I didn’t move, simply cocking my head as he struggled to his feet. He hunched over, coughing raggedly, and looked up at me from beneath raised brows. He was waiting for me to lead the way, expecting it, but if he thought I was foolish enough to turn my back on him again he had another thing coming. He was going to walk until I pulled his chain back like an unruly mutt.

“Go ahead,” I commanded.

He glared at me, spitting onto the ground with the last few flecks of moisture he had, and shuffled forward. I could see he was trying to fake me out; pretending like he could barely walk in the hopes I would either walk ahead to drag him, giving him the chance to flip me back, or else that I would be a real greenhorn and assess his condition up close. Little did he know of the surprise I had in store for him.

I slid my hand behind my waist, flipping open the clasp on my bag, fumbling with my fingers until I gripped the smooth tight leather handle. I pulled it out, the rest of the fabric tumbling to the ground with a light scuffle. It rested uneasily in my palm. I wasn’t used to it, being cruel and tough, and I didn’t particularly like it. But it was easy once I remembered being in that pod.

I had choked on the icy chemicals, choked so hard I nearly vomited, tears in my eyes. I hated being enclosed. That drove me so mad I almost didn’t see him. Then all I could see was him, and the gunshot, and blood everywhere and the baby gone. His leer at me, like I was an animal in the zoo. I had tried to shout but what use would it have been anyway.

The world had been flawed before, but at least I could feel safe. Here there was no hope. Every day was a day closer to death; I had my choice of being tortured, raped, eaten alive, torn to shreds, mowed down with a machine gun or else, if I was very very lucky, being taken out merely as a precaution and left in a pile of corpses somewhere.

And the man in front of me dragged me from my blissful oblivion straight into hell.

My eyes were fixed on his ears, ready to watch them twitch. I cracked the whip with relish. His entire body shook and went tense.

I took a step closer to him. Then I cracked it again.

Dust flicked up around him. I noticed with a strange glee that his ass cheeks clenched. The leather was so tight around them I could not help but see their every move. Perhaps forcing him to walk ahead of me had two benefits.

The flare of lust ignited my loathing and it began to surge through me like a wild torrent.

I cracked the whip over and over and over, not caring that it began to weaken his knees, not caring that my own shoulder began to strain, only aware of the sound of his groaning and the smack against his flesh and leather, branding through to his bones. I hated him more than I had ever hated anything in my life. Hating Nate at times had been a small candle flame, half-doused, compared to this torrid, raging wildfire. I wanted him to burn; I wanted him to scream; I wanted his blood to flow until all the rivers around me were red and then I wanted to boil the water until nothing of him remained.

He managed to dive away, sliding over the gravel onto his knees. Out of reach. I exhaled a ‘fuck’ before trying to regain some of my authority. Patience, always patience. I had my eyes on him, and he knew now I was not fucking around when I wanted him to walk. Once I had him in the lockup, then the real journey would begin, and I would probably have to think of more imaginative ways to coerce him.

As we walked, the bleached soil became marred with splotches of red, trailing along perfectly behind Kellogg. Only then I remembered his hands. I had bound them very loosely, caring only about keeping him alive rather than preventing any pain or infection. If his hands had to be sliced off entirely it did not affect what I wanted one way or the other. Even I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t awed by his stamina, however. He must have split the wounds open himself when he yanked on the chain and yet he made no sound of pain. I relished the thought of the metal pressing into him, pressing into the shrapnel still inside him, pushing his fragile skin aside and mashing into his bloody muscle.

It must have been an hour before we came to the old office. Even I had trouble finding it in the midst of these decimated streets, all markers from before torn away. Yet I knew my tower block. The upper floors were now collapsed, no trace of the roof left, yet the bottom three remained. Most importantly, so did the basement.

I cracked the whip in my excitement. Kellogg cowed to the ground and I kicked his head down, stepping over him to climb up the main steps. My hand brushed the chipped iron handle as I pushed against the front door. A strange little quiver shot through me as something like nostalgia overwhelmed me. It was rare to find anything of meaning anymore.

“Come on,” I muttered.

Without having to pull on him once, he got onto his fours and began to crawl. As he drew nearer my feet, I felt a pulse in my stomach, rippling lower and lower. It was something like fear but something else too. My thighs clenched. 

I had had plenty of time to think since the Vault. Time is a dangerous thing when you are full of revenge. And the Commonwealth gave me inspiration I could never have dreamed of, not even in the worst pulpy comic or dark little dirty books my mother used to hide down the back of her bed and pray I’d never find. I’d seen Raider gangs. I’d seen women and men in cages, torn limb from limb, every orifice torn with a dozen cocks and then a dozen more bats, sticks and spears. Usually the whole process was done so quickly and drunkenly it didn’t even mean anything to them. The Raiders were only doing this for fun, after all. Whether or not I enjoyed what I was going to do was irrelevant. I had to. There was no other purpose I had anymore. Surviving was miserable. I was utterly alone. Maybe if I found Shaun… maybe there would be something. But I felt rage for him too, another innocent brought into a world he knew nothing of, and I shuddered to think what would become of him if I didn’t save him.

There would be no death waiting at the end for Kellogg. Even after minutes, and hours, and days, he could not take comfort in the thought it would all be over soon. Each time we would get a little closer to the truth, I would begin all over again. When I found Shaun… maybe I could be merciful. But until then, I would not be able to sleep without hearing his screams.

The stairs inside were crumbling away, wood ripped to shreds and the paint blasted away. I might as well kick him through the gaps in the floorboards but I liked the idea of seeing him crawl across splinters and crags, forcing him to make his own way down to his torture.

“Go downstairs.”

He barely hesitated. On he went, crawling on his hands and knees, and even I felt my stomach clench a little at the thought of how agonising that rough wood would feel across his wounded palms. For a second I wondered if I was going too far; if this was simply too much.

Impulsively I bent down behind him, and wrapped my arms around his chest, trying to hoist him to his feet.

Without warning his hands seized me. The air rushed around me as I whirled around, propelled across the room with a serene weightlessness until I smashed into the stone wall behind me.

I felt pressure building up in my skull, unable to breathe and blinded by stars as I staggered to my feet and raised my fists. I could hear his chains clinking and his heavy breath coming towards me. I swung at his head but I missed and then what felt like pure steel slammed against my cheek and threw me back against the wall.

I kicked and punched again blindly, though this time I made contact. I smashed and smashed again until I felt the satisfying crack of a broken nose under my knuckles and warm droplets patter against my skin.

Air suddenly fled my lungs as another punch hit my stomach. It was like being back in the cryo chamber; unable to inhale or exhale, paralysed but still aware, and powerless to do anything but wait for my body to respond.

I looked at him and saw his black eyes glinting as he wrung out his fist, grimacing at me in satisfaction. The binding had slid off aside from one pathetic shred hanging off his pinkie. I had one split second to act.

I glanced at his hand then back into his eyes. Then I stabbed my fingers forward, plunging them directly into his open wound.

His gaze turned black, eyes scrunched up like rotten grapes, and his mouth mimed silent screams of agony. I kicked him back to the ground, smashing my heel into his stomach, then with a swift flick brought my foot down on his crotch.

I didn’t have time to relish in his pain, stepping over his face to grab his chain and hurl him towards the nearest solid thing I could find. I quickly wrapped it round the door handle, though I doubted it would hold him for long. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the bundle of twine I had stolen from the Supermart and set to work on his hands. Pale yellow fluid oozed down the edge of his palm as I tied the binding. I looked up at his face instead; each crevice now smeared with ruby blood still flowing like a sickly stream from his nose. The smell of salt and iron filled my nostrils and I felt dizzy.

His ankles clicked as I tied his boots together. I had timed it just right; he was starting to stir, his biceps moving under his shirt as he squirmed to sit up. It was surprisingly easy to roll him down the stairs. I kicked him down the first few and then his body began to tumble by itself. It was harder to drag him across the floor, tugging on the chain with all my might. 

The lock up was just as we had left it. The key hung out of the lock and I could tell from the strewn packages that someone had already looted the supplies. It didn’t really matter now. It was mostly tins and empty boxes of fruit and vegetables that had rotted long ago. There was a folded metal chair in the corner; it would have to do. I wrapped my arms under him again, more cautiously this time, though he was probably too weak to try and shrug me off even if he hadn’t been tied up. I could feel his faint yet frantic heartbeat beneath my fingertips, the heat from his sun-seared skin rising through his tattered shirt. My hand slipped; I tore the fabric back and brushed his flesh directly. I dug my nails into the hard muscle of his chest.

Once I had bound him to the chair, I crumpled to the floor and leaned against the metal, exhausted. Even after months and endless days multiplying muscle I was still weak. The sound of Kellogg’s panting was only slightly louder than of my own. We had both been put through our paces. In a strange way I liked the challenge he provided.

I kept my gun trained on him no matter how tired I was. I had double and triple checked the binding on his wrists and legs, then wrapped his own belt around his chest and tightened the as much as it would allow. He was sitting exactly where I had put him, not even able to writhe in pain, or slouch down to a more comfortable angle. I doubted he would even be able to breathe fully.

Yet I still felt the stony path under my feet, the tiny pebbles rolling like marbles as I flew across them, one second away from giving him the upper hand. My cheek still stung from his iron knuckles. My stomach still lurched as I replayed it over and over. The memories began to change, warping into one terrible fantasy. I felt myself falling to the ground, breath knocked from me, and his body looming over me. I felt his weight on me, his forearm pressing so tight on my throat, heart pounding hard and sending blood straight to my face. My face stung from a slap; blood filled my mouth as he bit my lip; then my scalp burned as he ripped my hair back.

I had to clasp a hand over my wrist to stop my gun from shaking. But the truth was I didn’t want to aim it at him at all. I wanted him to rip free from his binds, muscles to snap the twine like it was a mere spider’s thread, and rise to his feet like a towering demon. Now I felt like I ruled him I wanted him to take it all away, just like he had done in the Vault, so I could avenge myself and release my anguish and fury all over again.

My mother always told me to be careful what I wished for.


End file.
